


Double Major

by behindtheblueline



Series: Double Major [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtheblueline/pseuds/behindtheblueline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He allows Dex’s calloused fingers to gently tip his chin up, his eyes fluttering shut as Dex leans in. Their lips meet for a fleeting moment and C.J. sighs softly against Dex’s winter-chapped lips. Dex’s stubble presses against C.J.’s chin and C.J. can taste peppermint on his lips. </p><p>C.J. inhales sharply and his eyes fly open as he realizes what they’re doing. He pulls back roughly and stares at Dex with an unreadable expression before he drops his stick and punches Dex squarely in the mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Major

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a class this past semester, but I thought I would throw it up here as well. I spent all semester working on it, so it's sort of my baby; please be nice to it. 
> 
> Some major liberties taken here with the draft, scouting, and junior hockey, etc.

Dex is leaning lazily against the locker room door when C.J. exits Coach’s office after practice. “Took you long enough,” he smirks. “What did Coach want to talk to you about, anyways?”

C.J. shrugs as he shoulders his bag and grabs his stick. 

“C’mon, you’ve got to give me more than that,” Dex whines, knocking shoulders with C.J. as they make their way out to the parking lot. 

“I dunno, I’ll tell you later,” C.J. mumbles as they approach Dex’s truck. He throws his bag and stick in the bed and tries to open the passenger door to no success. “Come on, Dex, open the door.” He pulls the handle multiple times in quick succession. 

“Not until you tell me what happened with Coach.” Dex folds his arms over his chest and stares C.J. down. 

“The Hawks game is on in twenty minutes,” C.J. reasons, pulling his jacket down over his hands. “And it’s cold, let’s go.” 

“Fine, but only because they’re playing Dallas.” He unlocks his truck, and the pair clambers in quickly. “Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me just because the game’s on, it’s a fifteen minute drive to your house,” Dex reminds him as he turns the engine on. 

“He’s thinking about making me an alternate captain for the Shattuck St. Mary’s game next weekend since Marty's on IR.” C.J. fiddles with the knobs for the heater as he speaks. 

“Dude, that’s sick!” Dex punches his arm, hard. “Why wouldn’t you want to tell me that?”

“I dunno,” C.J. mumbles, finally chancing a look at his best friend. Dex is beaming. “Didn't think it mattered that much.”

“Dude, there’s going to be scouts at that game, honest-to-god NHL scouts. Of course it matters! That’s awesome!” Dex punches his arm again. His truck hits a stray patch of ice and C.J. grips the armrest in a panic as Dex turns into the spin and straightens the truck out.

“Just keep both hands on the wheel,” C.J. demands, his heart slowly returning to its normal pace.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re fine,” Dex placates, putting both his hands back on the wheel. “So why wouldn’t you want to tell me about that, then?”

“Just a lot of pressure, you know?” C.J. release his white-knuckle grip on the arm rests as Dex signals to exit the highway. “Marty said he heard that scouts from the Blackhawks are going to be there, you know how much getting drafted by them would mean to me.” 

“Nothing our little C.J. can’t handle, eh?” Dex teases, pulling into C.J.’s driveway and putting his truck in park. “Seriously, C.J., you got this, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” C.J. mutters, climbing hastily out of the truck to hide the bright blush coloring his face. He grabs his gear from the back of the truck and carefully navigates the icy porch steps up to his front door. “Hurry up, Dex, the game's probably already started by now.”

He hears Dex stumble clumsily up the steps as he unlocks the door. A ball of golden fluff crashes into C.J. as he pushes into the house. “Hi Marley,” he smiles, dropping his bag so he can greet the golden retriever properly. 

“Game’s on,” Dex reminds him, patting Marley on the head before pushing past C.J. into the living room. C.J. hears the TV turn on and Dex flipping through channels as he bends down and scratches behind Marley’s ears. “Pucks about to drop,” Dex calls. 

“Coming,” C.J. shouts back. “Come on, Marley.”

Dex is spread out over the entire couch when C.J. comes into the room. “Move,” C.J. shoves Dex’s legs off the couch and flops down in their place. He throws his legs onto Dex’s lap and groans when Marley steps on his stomach as she forces her way onto the couch. 

Dex lets out a loud laugh. “Serves you right.”

“Shut up.” C.J. chucks a pillow at Dex’s head. 

He catches it easily and throws it back at C.J. They watch the game in a comfortable silence until the ref blows his whistle on a high stick against the Hawks. They’re both up and screaming at the TV in an instant. 

“Come on!” Dex’s Manitoba accent fills the room. “That was the biggest dive I’ve ever seen! Hammer didn’t even touch the guy!”

“Are you fucking blind?” C.J. shouts, as if the ref could actually hear him in Dallas. “That's a bullshit call!” Hjalmarsson is led to the penalty box looking as mad as C.J. feels. 

They’re both still grumbling as they settle back on the couch. Marley rests her head back in C.J.’s lap with a sigh, thumping her tail wildly when C.J. resumes petting her.

“How sick would it be to play for the Hawks,” C.J. says as his favorite team goes on the penalty kill.

“I can’t even imagine,” Dex replies. “I think I’d die of happiness if I got drafted by the Hawks.”

“I think I’d die if any team drafted me.” 

“C.J.,” Dex groans. “Come on, we all know you’re going in the first round— probably in the top ten.”

“So are you,” C.J. points out, feeling his cheeks heat. 

“True,” Dex relents and goes back to staring at the game; C.J. can just see the way his brow furrows in concentration from his position. Dex barely blinks as he tracks the Hawks penalty kill. He sighs in relief and runs a hand through his hair as a shot deflects off the post and C.J. has to resist reaching over and smoothing it back down.

“What?” Dex smirks when he catches C.J. staring.

“Nothing,” C.J. blushes. The sound of the garage door opening resonates throughout the living room. “Dad's home,” C.J. notes, considering the subject dropped. He trains his eyes back on the game and groans loudly as he watches the Hawks goalie miss a shot through traffic from the left face-off circle, courtesy of Tyler Seguin. “Sick pass from Benn. Crawford never stood a chance,” he grumbles.

“Colin, mom has to stay late at the hospital tonight so I got pizza, alright?" C.J.’s dad calls as he traipses into the house. “What’s the score on the game?”

“Stars are up one to nothing on a power play goal from Seguin,” he calls back. “Dex is here, he’s staying for dinner.”

“Didn’t expect any differently, I got Canadian sausage just for him,” he smirks as he entires the living room and Dex throws his head back and groans dramatically. “Colin, go get your hockey bag out of the entryway before it stinks up the entire house. We can eat in front of the game as long as you don’t tell your mother.”

C.J. runs to throw his bag in the laundry room and rushes back to the game. He flops back on the couch right as the Hawks go on the power play. 

“Your coach called today,” C.J.’s dad remarks, passing him a plate. “Said he was thinking about making you an alternate captain for the Shattucks game.”

C.J. almost chokes on his pizza. “Yeah,” he coughs out. “He talked to me after practice.”

“That’s going to look great for the scouts. Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” C.J. mumbles, suddenly very interested in pulling all the olives off of his slice. He almost misses Jonathan Toews scoring on the power play to tie the game. 

The camera zooms in on the Hawks’ goal celebration, Toews stands with Patrick Kane, who got the primary assist, with an arm slung over his shoulders; Kane is beaming. “Just think, that's going to be the two of you one day,” C.J.’s dad tells them. 

C.J. tries to school his grimace into a smile, but judging from the sympathetic glances Dex is sending his way, it falls flat. He shoves another bite of pizza into his mouth and tries not to choke at the thought of standing at center ice with the weight of an entire franchise resting on his shoulders.

...

It’s the last practice before the Shattuck St. Mary’s game and Coach has them running a simple passing drill before they finish up. The crisp sound of tape-to-tape passes echoes around the rink. C.J. and Dex stand facing each other, slinging the puck back and forth easily. 

“Hey! Watch it, eh,” Tank, their goalie, shouts as a stray pass hits him where he’s stretching. 

“It was fuckin’ Poindexter over there,” Greener cackles, sending a puck flying towards Dex, hitting him squarely in the chest. 

“Hey, fag,” Tank waves his stick in Dex’s direction. “Watch where you’re sending those passes. All that homo tape on your stick is throwing off your aim.”

C.J. watches silently as Dex picks at the purple tape wrapped around his stick handle. 

“Shut up,” Dex mumbles under his breath. 

“What was that, Poindexter? You got something to say to me?” 

“Greene, cool it,” Coach orders, barely sparing a glance from his clipboard. 

He settles for final snide comment out of Coach’s earshot before sending another hard pass to his d-partner. “Fag-boy over here’s got Coach fighting his battles for him. Maybe he’s too afraid of fucking up his hair.”

“Just shut up,” Dex yells suddenly, throwing his stick to the ice with a clatter. C.J. winces as it comes to a stop at his feet. “Shut the fuck up! What the fuck does it matter if I’m gay?!”

Silence instantly coats the ice. 

Dex hesitates for a split second, wide eyes searching C.J.’s face for any sort of reaction. C.J. shrinks under the weight of his best friend’s gaze, but he keeps his sight determinedly on the loose tape on his stick blade. Ripping his helmet off roughly, Dex spins on the spot and skates quickly off the ice towards the locker room. C.J. watches him go. 

“Practice is over,” Coach blows his whistle. “Greene, stop by my office before you leave.”

C.J. stays on the ice as everyone else glides slowly off. He skates lazy circle, gathering up pucks and piling them in the center of the offensive zone. He shoots each puck as hard as he can at the net, a smack resonating every so often throughout the arena as a stray shot hits the glass. 

“Fuck!” he shouts as his final shot goes wide and cracks the glass. He’s breathing heavily and his thoughts are racing as he gathers up the pucks.

C.J. wipes the sweat from his brow with a gloved hand as he storms into the locker room, letting the metal door slam behind him. The rest of his teammates are slowly trickling out of the locker room as he’s getting into the showers; it’s empty by the time he’s dried off and dressed. 

He’s untaping his stick as Dex slips into the locker room. He freezes, spent tape tangled around his fingers as Dex approaches him, close enough for his breath to ghost against C.J.’s ear.

“Hey,” Dex murmurs, laying a gentle hand on the back of his best friend’s neck, grazing his thumb along the edge of C.J.’s still-damp hair. C.J. swallows audibly and unconsciously leans into the touch. 

He allows Dex’s calloused fingers to gently tip his chin up, his eyes fluttering shut as Dex leans in. Their lips meet for a fleeting moment and C.J. sighs softly against Dex’s winter-chapped lips. Dex’s stubble presses against C.J.’s chin and C.J. can taste peppermint on his lips. 

C.J. inhales sharply and his eyes fly open as he realizes what they’re doing. He pulls back roughly and stares at Dex with an unreadable expression before he drops his stick and punches Dex squarely in the mouth. 

“Fuck,” Dex swears without any real heat, pressing his fingers to the split in his lip. Blood is dripping onto his sweatshirt, staining the Hartford Whalers logo decorating the front. “What the fuck was that?”

“You fucking tell me, I’m not the one who just kissed his _best friend_ ,” C.J. rips the tape off his fingers, wincing at the blood staining it. “I’m not like you, Dex. I’m not fucking gay.” 

Dex scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, okay, C.J.. I _know_. There’s nothing wrong with it, okay?”

C.J. is silent for a beat before he shoves Dex away. “No, Dex. Just _no_. I’m not gay.”

Dex visibly deflates. “Okay, C.J.,” he relents, wiping the blood from his hand on his jeans. “Okay.”

“Just stay the fuck away from me,” C.J. snarls, shoving his pads and skates into his bag before grabbing his stick and storming out of the locker room. He doesn’t look back. 

...

The bus is slowly crawling from Madison to Faribault. C.J. is sitting towards the back, slouching low in his seat with his bag conspicuously placed on the seat next to him. He’s staring blankly out the window at the snow falling heavily from the sky; one of the last players awake, he flips the hood of his sweatshirt up and resolutely does not turn around. 

He can feel Dex boring holes into the back of his head with his eyes and he shrinks under the weight of his stare. He knows he should be sleeping, or at least focusing on the game they’ll be playing against Shattuck St. Mary’s tomorrow, but he can’t stop thinking about what happened in the locker room with Dex.

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it; when he thinks about the taste of Dex’s peppermint chapstick on his lips, underneath the burning anger, he thinks he feels something almost akin to regret. They haven’t spoken since the kiss two days ago, which C.J. thinks is probably the longest they’ve gone without speaking since Dex’s family moved to Madison from Winnipeg six years ago. 

He has to play against the best team in the country tomorrow with Dex on his left, when he can’t even speak to him or meet his eye. There are going to be scouts at this game, pro-scouts from the Blackhawks no less, which both his coach and his father haven’t let him forget. He’s draft-eligible next year, so he knows his entire future is effectively riding on this one game, and yet all he can think about is the soft press of Dex’s stubble against his chin. 

C.J. wakes with a start as the bus pulls into the parking lot of their hotel. He yawns and checks his phone, 1:42 am. He gathers his things lethargically, allowing his teammates to pile off the bus ahead of him. He sighs heavily as he shoulders his bag and trudges off the bus into the frigid Minnesota air. 

“C.J.!” He startles violently at the sound of Dex calling his name. “Colin!”

Dex spins C.J. around by the arm to face him. Dex smiles hesitantly, “Hey. We should talk.”

C.J. stares at his lips for a moment before he pulls an arm back and connects his fist with Dex’s face. 

“Fuck, Dex. Just fucking stay away from me,” C.J. spits. He turns on the spot and stalks into the hotel lobby. 

“Hunt, you’re rooming with Lewis,” Coach barks, passing him a keycard. “Get some sleep, big game tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” C.J. mutters under his breath. He realizes his knuckle is split from the punch and he quickly covers it with his sleeve before Coach can see what he’s done to his hand. 

A burst of cold air floods the lobby as Dex comes striding in from the parking lot. His hood is flipped up, but it does a poor job of hiding his bright red cheek. “Lewis, you’re rooming with Hunt, he’s already got your key. Get some rest. Morning skate is at eleven.”

C.J. watches Dex scowl at his room assignment and stalk towards the elevator without so much a glance in his direction. He trails after Dex into the elevator. 

C.J. jabs the button for their floor with a bit more force than necessary and stares at the floor as an awkward silence settles over the pair. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in a slower elevator. 

Neither speak as C.J. unlocks the door. Dex shoves past C.J. and immediately claims the bed by the window before locking himself in the bathroom. C.J. is forced to sit on the lumpy hotel mattress and watch late-night TV while he waits for his turn to shower. The adrenaline is slowly draining from his body, leaving him tense and restless. 

He gets through the half of an SNL replay before Dex finally emerges, a cloud of steam following him out. He averts his eyes as Dex passes him and he heads into the bathroom. 

He hops in the shower with the water as hot as it will go, letting the steam relax his tense muscles. He tries to focus on the plays they sketched out in practice, but his mind won’t stop flashing back to the scene in the locker room and the way Dex’s stubble had felt against his skin. He shuts off the shower and hangs his head in frustration. The biggest game of his life is tomorrow and all he can think of is the kiss that led him to punch his best friend in the face, twice.

He’s careful with his split knuckle, wrapping it expertly after he dries off and downing a couple acetaminophen for the swelling. The last thing he needs is it messing with his game tomorrow. Guilt coils in his stomach the longer he thinks about it. 

When he leaves the bathroom, Dex has switched the TV off and is staring at the ceiling in silence. All the lights are shut off except the lamp between the beds. He doesn’t glance over as C.J. stalks from the bathroom and slips into his pajamas. 

C.J. climbs underneath the blankets on his bed, finger resting on the lamp’s switch.

“Can I turn this off?” His murmured question feels like a shout in the silent room.

“Yeah,” Dex responds after a beat. His voice is thick and C.J. winces at the way it cracks around the word. He rolls onto his side after C.J. flicks the switch, back turned towards his best friend. 

C.J. sighs quietly and shuffles to try and get comfortable under the stiff sheets. He spends what feels like hours twisting and turning in his bed, unable to turn his mind off long enough to fall asleep. His knuckles ache and the guilt that has been building in his stomach for days has reached an unbearable level. He huffs in frustration before throwing one of his pillows across the room at the wall.

“C.J., stop,” Dex scowls. “Go to sleep.”

“Shut up,” C.J. mutters. “You weren’t sleeping either.”

“Well if you’d stop thinking so fucking loud, I could,” Dex retorts. “We have a game tomorrow dumbass.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t fucking kissed me, I could actually focus on the game,” C.J. snaps with no real heat behind his voice. 

Dex sucks in a breath. “Fuck, C.J. I thought you felt the same way, I swear. I really thought you felt the same way.” 

A beat of silence passes between the two. 

“Why’d you do it, Dex?”

“I just said—“

“No,” C.J. interrupts. “Why’d you come out like that? You just rose to their bait; you gave them exactly what they wanted. You know how they’re going to treat you now.”

“Fuck you,” Dex spits. “You’re not the one who had to show up to practice every fucking day and listen to them chirp the shit out of you about something you have no control over. Do you seriously think I wanted them to find out like that? I didn’t want them to find out at all. I’m not even out to my parents, yet, dude. That is not how I fucking wanted to come out.”

C.J. mulls this over in his mind for a minute. “I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me. I tell you everything, bro. And you just kept this huge fucking thing from me and fucking shouted it at Tank and Greene in the middle of practice before you even told me.”

Dex sighs heavily. “What the fuck do you want me to say, C.J.? If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t. I was going to tell you when I was ready, okay? It wasn’t like I was hiding it from you out of spite or some shit. In hindsight it probably would have been better if I had since you didn't take it all that well.” 

C.J. winces. He deserved that one and he knows it. He’s silent for a long time, staring up at the ceiling and willing the dampness he feels building behind his eyes to recede. “I’m sorry, okay?” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and ignores the way his voice is cracking and breaking. He doesn’t even know if Dex is still awake, he just needs to say this now. “I fucked up and I’m sorry.” 

Dex doesn’t respond for so long that C.J. is sure he fell asleep. The tears escape his eyes on their own accord, bringing a few quiet sobs with them. He turns his face into his remaining pillow to stifle them. 

“Fuck,” Dex murmurs after a long silence. “C.J., please don’t— Don’t cry, okay?” 

A mattress creaks and C.J. feels his own dip underneath a solid weight. A hesitant hand settles on his shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He buries his head deeper into his pillow and tries to still the shaking in his shoulders. 

“C.J.,” Dex sighs. “Colin, it’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

“Fuck, Dex,” C.J. mutters, pulling his face out of the pillow and rolling onto his back. “I’m so fucking sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Everything is fucked up now and I’m sorry.” 

He meets Dex’s eyes for the first time in days and feels another stab of guilt at the hesitancy he finds in them. Dex has never looked at him like that before.

“Why’d _you_ do it then?” Dex asks quietly. “Why'd you hit me?”

“I don’t know, I’m sor—“

“Stop, C.J.,” Dex interrupts. “Listen to me. Forget the team, forget the game, forget the draft, forget your dad. None of that matters right now. Forget all of it and tell me that you would do it again.” 

“Dex… I didn’t mean to, okay? I can't stop thinking about the kiss; you weren't reading the signs wrong. But I’m scared, I can’t just pretend like all of that stuff isn’t happening. I’ve spent my entire life working for this. I need to make the draft and I can’t let the way I feel fuck that up.”

“I’m going to kiss you again,” Dex says slowly. “Try not to punch me.” 

C.J. holds his breath as Dex’s hand comes up and cups his cheek. He clenches his hands at his sides and tries to slow the erratic racing of his heart. Dex leans in slowly, pausing just before their lips can meet. 

“Forget all of it.” Dex’s breath ghosts against his lips. “Just you and me right now, okay?”

C.J. finally lets out a breath and nods. His eyes slip shut and he allows himself to lay a gentle hand on the back of Dex’s neck as their lips meet. Dex’s lips press against his with a confidence that wasn’t there before. C.J. tangles his fingers into Dex’s hair to pull him closer and kisses him back. 

When Dex pulls back his cheeks are flushed and a smirk is spread across his lips. “You’re not gonna punch me again, right?” His tone is teasing, but C.J. has no problem picking up on the hesitancy hiding behind his smirk. 

“No,” C.J. says simply, dusting his thumb over the flush painted on Dex's freckled cheeks. “I promise.”

“Good. Sleep now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” C.J. nods. “Big game tomorrow.”

“We’re gonna crush it.”

C.J. can feel Dex’s weight shift as he moves to get back into his own bed before he reaches out to stop him. His fingers encircle Dex’s wrist, loose enough that Dex could pull away if he wanted to. “Stay.” 

The worry lines that had been wrinkled into his forward melt away at C.J.’s request. “Sure, C.J.” He shoves his way under the blanket, pushing C.J. over to make himself more room. As soon as they’re settled, C.J. slides his hand into Dex’s. Neither pull away until they’re both fast asleep. 

...

The game goes as well as they could have expected, C.J. thinks. It was hard fought on both sides, and his shoulders and ribs ache from absorbing what felt like a thousand hits on the forecheck from a rhino. He’s sitting in his stall in the visitors’ locker room, tuning out Coach’s postgame speech and running over the game in his head.

A power play goal in the second and an assist on the third period goal that sent the game into overtime: normally C.J. would consider this a successful game, they qualified for the postseason by sending it to OT and he had two points, but there were scouts in the stands and the ‘A’ on his sweater had felt like it was burning a hole in his chest. After the Shattuck’s captain and Tank, C.J. had been the player to watch and he doesn’t know if it was enough. He couldn't find Dex on the ice until late in the third and had missed three passes from him, including a pristine no-look backhand to the blocker side, a play they had perfected in practice months ago. His hands are shaking from exhaustion and anxiety and he can feel Dex staring at him from his stall, but he refuses to look up.  

“Hit the showers, the bus leaves in an hour,” Coach barks out, breaking C.J. from his revelry. He roughly pulls his jersey over his head, throwing it into the laundry before getting into the showers. He avoids Dex for as long as he can, averting his eyes and busying himself packing up his gear, but he can’t stop Dex from sliding into the seat beside his on the bus.

He pulls his phone out and puts his headphones on, turning up his music and shutting his eyes. His mind immediately drifts back to this morning, when he had woken up for team breakfast and morning skate with his hand intertwined with Dex’s.

He has four missed calls and two text messages, all from his father. C.J. knows he's probably wondering how the game went, has probably already seen the score, but C.J. thinks he would rather take another thousand hits from that rhino defenseman than discuss the game with his dad right now. 

The bus ride is giving him way too much time to think, and the normally soothing hum of the bus’s engine is making his skin crawl. All he can think about is the feeling of Dex’s calloused fingers on his chin and the way his breath had ghosted against his cheek before he had leaned in. Underneath the hum of contentment he gets when he thinks about Dex’s peppermint chapstick and the smell of hockey clinging to his clothes, all he can taste is fear, bitter and sharp in the back of his throat. 

C.J. cracks his eyes open when a solid weight settles onto his shoulder; Dex has fallen asleep with his head on C.J.’s shoulder. C.J. sighs softly and brushes a stray strand of hair off of Dex's face. He doesn't know what to expect once they step off the bus in Madison and the bubble of the road trip is popped.

Fear is still thrumming through C.J.’s veins when the bus pulls into the school’s parking lot around midnight. He nudges Dex awake and gathers up his things. His dad is waiting for him in his truck when C.J. drags his gear off of the bus. He throws his bag and sticks into the back and turns around out of instinct to look for Dex. He spots him standing with his mom, piling his sticks into the back of her van. He smirks when he looks up and catches C.J. staring at him. C.J. can see him say something to his mom before he jogs over to C.J. and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Come over tomorrow? The Canucks have a matinee against the Kings.”

“Sure.” C.J.’s voice is muffled against Dex’s shoulder.

“Good. Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dex places a gentle kiss against C.J.’s forehead before he pulls away. C.J. watches him for a moment before he climbs into his dad’s truck and sinks into the passenger seat. 

“I heard about your goal in the second,” his dad says as he starts the truck. “And your assist on the equalizer. I’m proud of you.”

C.J. swallows around the knot forming in his throat. “Thanks, dad.”

“It’s good to see you and Dex have made up as well.” 

“I— what?” C.J. stutters out. 

“Mrs. Lewis called Wednesday night and said Dex had come home from practice in tears with a split lip,” his dad replies. “You didn't mention anything, but you’ve seemed off ever since.”

“Dad, I—“

“Colin I need you to listen to me right now because this is serious," his dad says as he pulls onto the highway. “I don't care about whatever it is that’s going on between you and Dex, your mother and I have always said that we didn’t care about who you loved as long as you were happy. But you have to think about your future, the draft is next summer and you’ve worked too hard to throw that away.”

C.J. picks at the scab on his knuckle. “I know.”

“We just want you to be happy, and if Dex is what makes you happy, far be it from me to stop you. But you need to think about the repercussions if that were to get out; there’s a strong possibility you could be passed over in the draft or lose your contract if someone found out.”

C.J. succeeds in pulling the scab off his knuckle. A stray drop of blood trails down his hand. “I know.”

“Just be careful, alright?” His dad pulls into the garage and puts the truck in park.

C.J. sticks his bloody knuckle in his mouth, at a loss for words. 

“Colin?” his dad asks when he doesn’t respond.

“I don't even know what's going on between us,” C.J. sighs. “We kissed and I know that he likes me, but…”

“Go on.”

“The draft is in a year and who knows where we’ll both be after that. Is it even worth the risk? We could both lose our careers before they even start.”

“That’s something you need to decide for yourself. Sleep on it and we’ll talk more in the morning.” 

...

C.J. hands tremble on the steering wheel of his truck as he drives across town to Dex’s house. He’s struggling to keep his focus on the icy road and gets honked at more than once for driving so slowly. 

He feels completely torn; thinking about Dex makes him simultaneously content and terrified. He's liked Dex for longer than he’s willing to admit, but the draft is constantly looming on the edge of his vision and he doesn’t know if it’s worth the risk. He's been dreaming of the NHL for as long as he can remember, has spent the last fourteen years working towards it. He’s worked too hard and sacrificed too much to risk that now, when he's so close. There are no out professional players for a reason and he can’t throw away his chance to make it in the NHL by being the first. His dad’s warnings are echoing in his mind and despite the warmth that had filled his chest when he kissed Dex, he knows what he has to do. 

His hands haven’t stilled by the time he gets to Dex’s and it takes him more than one attempt to get the keys out of the ignition. 

He knocks twice on his best friend’s door, picking at his raw knuckle while he waits for Dex to answer. The door swings open and Dex is standing there, the purple bruise on his cheekvibrant underneath his freckles. C.J. has to drag his eyes away from it, can feel the guilt building the longer he stares at it. He beams at C.J.

C.J. tries not to cry. “Hey, we should talk.” 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr here: behind-the-blue-line.tumblr.com  
> come talk to me!


End file.
